Demons Imps and Incubi (Red Moon Anthologies Book 1) Read online

  Dark, powerful, forbidden

  Demons, Imps, Incubi: dark, powerful, and forbidden. Only the foolish would seek one out for seduction, and yet… deals are struck. Souls are ensnared.

  But must a demon’s agenda always be demonic? Can he be redeemed? Or does being bad feel too good to bother with redemption? Long ago, imps were more mischievous and playful—naughty, perhaps?—and perceptions of them have only grown more sinister over the centuries. The incubus craves sex, but what makes us crave him?

  Explore dark and sensual worlds with eight brand new stories of magic and seduction that will set you aflame by Cori Vidae, Alexa Piper, Erzabet Bishop, Mark Greenmill, Nicole Blackwood, J. C. G. Goelz, Jeffery Armadillo, and M. Arbroath.

  Demons, Imps, and Incubi

  Red Moon Romance Anthology Featuring:

  Cori Vidae

  Alexa Piper

  Erzabet Bishop

  Mark Greenmill

  Nicole Blackwood

  J. C. G. Goelz

  Jeffery Armadillo

  M. Arbroath

  Edited by Laura Harvey

  Published by Red Moon Romance

  Copyright Notice

  This text is not to be posted or shared online without the permission of the author. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author, Kennedy Castille.

  DEMONS IMPS AND INCUBI

  Copyright © 2015 Laura Harvey

  Published by Red Moon Romance

  Imprint of World Weaver Press

  Alpena, MI

  www.RedMoonRomance.com

  First edition: June 2015

  Also available in paperback - ISBN-13: 978-0692468715

  ASIN (mobi): B0108OUDCC

  B&N ID (epub): 2940151109802

  Kobo ID (epub): 1230000508452

  This is a work of fiction; characters and events are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

  Please respect the rights of the author and the time and effort she puts into writing and publishing: Do not copy this ebook. Do not re-post it online. Do not distribute. Do not post on free-downloading sites. If you like this book and want to share it with a friend, please consider buying an additional copy.

  To my family, whose patience knows no bounds, and to E. G. W. G., who know a challenge when they see one.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Circles Within Circles by Cori Vidae

  Mary never believed the rumors about her mother being a witch, but when a mirror inexplicably connects her to her twin brother Michael, stationed half a world away on a WWI battlefield, she reconsiders. To protect him from a battle he has reason to believe will be his last, Mary sets out to uncover any magic left on her isolated farm.

  Cairn wakes from centuries of banishment to a cramped basement and a sensual, albeit surprised, woman. Perhaps she didn’t intend to summon him, but since she did, perhaps he could help… for a price.

  Measures of Greed by Alexa Piper

  Valerian wants a distraction, but the witchling he meets at a crossroads turns out to be far more than that. Toying with her might be his undoing, but he can’t help himself.

  Cora wants to unravel a mystery, and Valerian’s sensual enticements keep getting in her way. He draws her into a world of strange darkness and even stranger light. Trickery twists her fate, but not even Valerian can hope to twist her will.

  Pomegranate Cupcake by Erzabet Bishop

  There’s nothing like a party in the Underworld… Especially when you’re a goddess in a really bad mood.

  Angry with her daughter’s annual trip to the Underworld, Demeter decides to crash Hades’ party at the Elysian Club, but she’s not as immune to the hot, writhing bodies as she’d thought. Or maybe it’s just one body that can entice her.

  Nick is an incubus on Hades’ payroll. When he catches sight of a sexy goddess in the throng of night club goers, he knows this won’t be a night he’ll soon forget as two forces collide in a scorching interlude of fiendish passion.

  Burning Edge of Dawn by Mark Greenmill

  When Celeste summons Santorava, the Demon Lord of Kraal, his heartbreaking story ignites a fire in her. She’ll risk everything to discover the secret of his world and, in turn, a secret she carries in her soul.

  Dromtsiirin at the Tiki Lounge by Nicole Blackwood

  At last, Benjiishnael’s long years of exile are at an end. All he has to do is keep his human ward safe until his master’s fiendish deal is done and Benji can return home to Dromtsuul. But the deal unravels, and worst of all, Benji is becoming inexplicably… aware… of his ward.

  Soul Mates by J. C. G. Goelz

  Some nights can’t be forgotten. Some can’t be remembered—which may be for the best, unless there’s a strange woman in your bed. And she’s not breathing.

  Setting off to retrace his steps and his whirlwind romance, he’s about to discover there’s more to romance than life and death.

  Lilin and Irdo: Promettre by Jeffrey Armadillo

  By Divine Dictate, incubi and succubi are forbidden from falling in love. Irdo knows his yearning for Lilin is doomed, but he can’t help wishing for what is out of reach.

  Lilin fears life will only get more difficult for demons as the modern world leaves them behind. More than that, she fears losing Irdo forever. It’s bound to happen. Their affair won’t escape notice much longer, and paying the price might destroy them both…

  Iron and Embers by M. Arbroath

  Ember’s new client makes an offer she can’t refuse: enough gold to finally leave her stepmother’s household in the oppressive goblin-ruled lands. All she has to do is sneak into Duke Vertigren’s manor and swap a mystical artifact for a magic-leeching, iron fake without drawing the handsome Duke’s ire… or other attentions.

  Review this Book

  Acknowledgments

  About the Anthologist

  More Great Romance

  Copyright Extension

  DEMONS, IMPS, AND INCUBI

  Introduction

  “Demons” and “romance” might not seem to be a natural combination. Demons are so… dark. Immoral. Soul-stealing. Double-dealing. Sneaky. Beastly. The very antithesis of love and romance. Right?

  Well, as it turns out, that depends on who you ask. At their most basic, demons are supernatural beings prevalent in religion, literature, and folklore. Beyond that, it’s a wild and varied jungle of interpretation: one culture’s demon is frequently another culture’s god. Some mythologies do not distinguish between gods and demons at all. They have been considered divine spirits of inspiration, amoral beings on the edges of human civilization, mischievous tricksters, and nefarious double-dealers.

  Whatever the understanding, human beings have told demon stories for thousands of years. Perhaps it is our nature to wonder about a spiritual reality just out of sight, or beings that wield greater power than can be held by frailer, more helpless mortal hands. Many legends speak of mortals harnessing mighty spirits to save loved ones or wreak destruction on enemies. As many readers know, such bargains can be tricky. Demons have minds of their own and unspoken motives.

  And yet… Demons can be deliciously tempting. The one thing that is as old as trickery, mischief, or outright evil, is love.

&n
bsp; As it turns out, hot romance doesn’t require hellfire… but sometimes that might not hurt.

  —Laura Harvey, Editor

  Circles Within Circles

  Cori Vidae

  Eclipse rocketed through the room like his tail was on fire. He skidded around the corner, back legs scrambling to gain purchase on the worn wooden floors, and tore into the living room. She heard him ricochet off a wall and scramble down the tiny hallway that contained the bedrooms. Mary listened hard around the storm and was able, barely, to discern when Eclipse finally came to a stop in her room. “What has gotten into him?”

  She draped a towel over the top of the breadraiser and wiped her fingers on her apron. Unfastening it while she walked, she called, “If anything is broken in there I’m going to toss you outside. Wind or no wind.”

  Talking to the cat wasn’t a new thing for her. When Michael enlisted, they’d had to downsize the farm to a size she and the farmhand, Pete, could handle. Once Pete had gone off to fight in the “war to end all wars” too, she’d been left all alone on the farm five miles from town. Five miles could be a pleasant enough trip in good weather, but winter had been hard. She’d only been to town twice since November and the quiet had begun to wear. Eclipse didn’t talk back, true enough, but she had plenty of conversations with him just the same. She liked to hear the sound of a voice, even her own, inside these walls which had once been the setting for so much laughter.

  Before the fire. Before the war.

  “What did you—?” Arriving in her bedroom doorway, Mary took in two things at once.

  First, Eclipse was curled up in the middle of her bed. He stretched as though he’d been there for hours, extended his leg and ran his tongue up the length of it. A low, rumbling purr emanated from his sleek, black body.

  Second, the mirror over her dresser rippled; its typically smooth face shifted, as if buckets of water poured over it. The reflections distorted and smeared, running in streams down the surface.

  “What in God’s name?” She crept toward it just as a gust of wind rattled her window; she jumped. Eclipse interrupted his grooming to peer at her with disdain before going back to work smoothing his fur.

  Mary laughed shakily and leaned over to peer into the water-infused glass of her mirror. Her reflection looked back, distorted and twisted, like looking into a stream. Still, she could make out her form, her face, the blue of her dress. Could see the shape of her bed behind her, the soft yellow of the far wall of her bedroom.

  She touched the glass, expecting to feel the chill wetness of water against her fingers, but the instant her fingers made contact, the watery image rippled around them, forming circles within circles which spread out and out, clearing the glass in their wake. Suddenly, instead of seeing herself, the sputtering light of a lantern illuminated drab green tent walls and a face she knew as well as her own.

  Bare stubble covered his scalp and bags sagged beneath his eyes. Grime darkened his face and uniform but failed to hide his distinctly gray pallor. He’d aged ten years in the months he’d been gone. Still, she’d know her twin anywhere. Even in a war zone.

  “Michael?”

  “The fuck?” His voice resonated from the mirror as clearly as if he’d been on the other side of an open window.

  She jumped, yanking her finger off the glass and the vision vanished, leaving her staring at her own reflection, hazel eyes wide, face pale. On the bed behind her, Eclipse kept grooming himself as though nothing had happened. As though she hadn’t just seen, heard, been connected to Michael.

  But she had.

  Mary reached again for the mirror, but when she touched it she felt only glass. Hard and cold. Darn it, she thought, why did I let go?

  She closed her eyes, counted slowly to ten and opened them again. Tears choked her but she swallowed them. Crying wouldn’t change anything, and the cows wouldn’t milk themselves.

  * * *

  The wind ripped at her skirt so that it pressed against the back of her legs and flapped like a flag in front of her, leading the way to the barn. It was a warm wind, and in melting what little snow had lingered into spring, it had turned the farmyard a dreary mud brown, the same color as Michael’s uniform.

  The barn still didn’t smell right. Even now, months after the community helped them rebuild and raise it, the scent of fresh-cut wood lingered, and beneath that, another odor. Surely it was only her imagination, but the acrid tang of the old barn’s ashes haunted her even so. As always, the memory of screaming cattle and horrifically beautiful flames leaping impossibly high against the black night sky flashed through her mind. Mary paused to shove the images away, reaching for thoughts of the mirror and rumors of her mother, instead.

  Could the townsfolk have been right? Had Mom really been a witch? Her mother had shrugged off the rumors completely, said those who spoke against her were just narrow-minded hypocrites who couldn’t understand anyone they didn’t see across the aisle at church once a week. Mary had believed it. She’d believed her. She had no reason not to. She’d never seen her mother do anything that even remotely hinted at witchcraft. No cauldrons, or brooms, or mysterious happenings in the house… Until the fire. But Mom had spent a long time with the mirror in the old barn before giving it to Mary for her birthday, and the one in Michael’s shaving kit as well. What if she really had possessed magic powers? What if she’d enchanted the mirrors?

  Mary milked the cows like an automaton while her mind whirled with questions and theories. On one hand, it seemed spectacularly foolish to believe in magic, but on the other… Well, the mirror had run like water and shown her a vision of Michael. A vision that spoke. What other explanation could there be?

  The wind tugged at her buckets as she went back to the house, and when she slammed the door behind herself, the sudden decrease in its roar felt nearly deafening. She hadn’t realized how loud it was until it was gone.

  * * *

  Later that evening, freshly baked bread steamed on the counter and Mary had just ladled out a bowl of split pea soup for her dinner when she felt it: a tug from her navel, pulling her toward her bedroom.

  Twilight had descended and only a gray half-light managed to outwit her curtains and make it through the window. Even so, she could see the mirror rippling from the doorway. Though she moved slowly, the candle in her hand ducked and bobbed in the air currents, throwing elongated shadows across her wall.

  She set the candle on her dresser and placed her palm flat against the glass.

  Again, circles pulsed away from her hand, clearing to reveal a place an ocean away. It was full dark in France, so she could barely make out his features, but Michael’s face hovered near the mirror, staring at her incredulously.

  “Oh, Michael!” she said, careful to keep her palm pressed hard against the mirror this time. “Michael, I’ve missed you!”

  “Mary?” he whispered, voice disbelieving, brow furrowed. “Is that really you?”

  “It’s me!” She smiled, feeling tears of joy prick the corner of her eyes and swell her chest.

  “How is that even possible?” The whites of his eyes flashed as he glanced first to one side and then the other before leaning in so close he nearly pressed his nose against the glass.

  “I—are you using the mirror Mom gave you for our sixteenth birthday?”

  “Yes, I—ooooh.” The wrinkle between Michael’s eyes smoothed out and he smiled. “Damn. I guess she was a witch after all, eh?”

  “I guess so.” Mary laughed. “I miss you, Michael. How you been? You staying safe? Warm enough? You’re not hurt, are you? You’re a mess…”

  She’d only meant to ask the first question; the others just tumbled after it like boulders in a landslide, rolling up and over each other in their race to leave her lips.

  Michael’s smile grew, but even though it crinkled the corners of his eyes, it never lit them. Not like it used to. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Well, as can be expected. But—yeah, I’m fine.”

  Worms of worry twisted
through her belly. “But what?”

  “I don’t wanna worry you.” Michael shifted. “How’s everything on the farm? Did all the cows make it through the winter? How about the chickens? Haven’t got a letter from you in ages—”

  “Stop it right now,” Mary snapped. “Or I’ll let go of this mirror and break the connection. So help me, I will. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Michael closed his eyes and she could see his lips moving as he counted silently. It was a trait they both shared, a way of shutting out the world for just a few seconds at a time. Mary used it most often to regain her composure and control emotions. Michael used it to make decisions.

  He opened his eyes. “We’re near some French city, and every day more and more troops arrive. They’re up to something big. Something… Whatever it is, I have a bad feeling about it.”

  When they were kids, they’d ride their toboggan off jumps they’d built into the hill. They’d fly through the air for a couple of seconds before slamming back down to Earth, free-falling before coming down hard. That’s exactly how she felt now.

  If someone else said they had a bad feeling about something, it would be easy enough to dismiss as wariness, paranoia, or exhaustion, but when Michael had a bad feeling, it meant something. Something terrible.

  The first time he’d told her he had a bad feeling he’d refused to accept a ride to school from their neighbors. He’d made such a big deal about it she’d agreed to walk with him, even though the early spring air still had more bite than their guard dog. A short time later, they heard the crash but arrived on the scene too late to save either of the Pattersons. The wagon had somehow flipped upside down in the ditch full of spring run-off. The father had been trampled by panicked horses; his daughter drowned.

  The most recent time Michael had warned about something, it had been the day Mom and Dad died. The day of the fire.